


Drive My Car

by Urbiezira



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Formula One AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:13:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Urbiezira/pseuds/Urbiezira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something fascinating about people who drive in circles, looking for normality, Capable thinks.</p><p>Also known as: a Formula One AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm merging my main fandom with my new fandom: Formula One and Mad Max!
> 
> To read this fic you don't really need prior knowledge about F1, though it's never a bad thing! Leave a comment if you didn't understand something or want me to explain something, or of course, just to tell me what you think!
> 
> This will be multiple chapters, but I currently don't have it all planned out so we'll see how long it gets and where it goes! Thank you for reading in advance!

It was the lowest she had ever stooped in her twenty-three years of being on earth. A grid girl. She, Capable? Well, yes. Grid girl for number 88, to be precise. Not the number on the grid, the driver’s number; Nux Immortan, qualified seventh on the grid at the Australian Grand Prix. His teammate, Slit Immortan, is his older cousin and starts from eleventh, two rows back. Everyone calls them by their first names to prevent confusion, after a very complicated race where the family members battled each other on track and the commentators realised saying “Immortan passes Immortan!” sounds rather silly.

 

Capable’s friends were on the grandstands and she knew their eyes were on her, but she wasn’t really allowed to look anywhere but in front of her. Unless a camera goes past, in which case she had to smile, hide her blush and pretend like she wasn’t standing in front of the car of her favourite F1 driver in like, _ever_. She normally didn’t even _do_ blushing, so she imagined it was the sun warming her face. The fact that it was overcast was a minor flaw in her reasoning, but she’d figure it out.

 

From the corner of her eye she could see Slit going past, looking in front of him as harshly as ever. There seemed to be two different modes that the guy could adapt: stoic, or batshit crazy, nothing in between. He wore his fireproof suit up, the yellow tint of it making him look even paler than usual. She was shaken out of her reverie when a camera appeared right in front of her. She smiled at it, and if it wasn’t for the fact that it was too crazy out here to hear anything but noise, she’d sworn she could hear The Dag laughing.

 

Really, this whole thing had been a long-shot. It was a competition, a silly competition to be a grid girl for the Australian Grand Prix, the first race of the year. Normally they cast girls from modelling agencies but this time, they were looking for people like Capable: a good smile, resilient and preferably a big fan of the sport. Capable wasn’t so sure about her smile anymore, since it probably looked rather crooked by now, but a big fan of the sport she definitely was. The rest had just sort of happened. She was showing the girls the advertisement one minute, and the next she was on her way to Melbourne to personally meet the people in charge of selecting the grid girls. Obviously, she had been chosen.

 

So here she was, doing something she hated – being a thing for eyes to ogle – just so she could do exactly the same thing to someone else. And that someone else just appeared through the crowd, racing suit seemingly clinging on for dear life to what Capable knew were hipbones, and Capable went a little weak in the knees.

 

Oh how she loathed being like this, but she couldn’t help it! Cars are one thing, and she would have settled for just the fast cars, but the men, oh the men. And this man, or boy (her age, and not even nearly the youngest on the grid) who was the number one driver of Citadel Racing, he made all the boring races and cringe worthy podiums worth her time.

 

He smiled with a youthfulness that never ceased to amaze her. Even in interviews he never lost this air of innocence that he carried around. But on the race track, as soon as the lights went out, there was nothing to be seen of that innocence. He drove like some would describe as ‘a madman’, and others as ‘a prodigy’ (it really depended on which driver or team you rooted for). He went for gaps that others wouldn’t even dream about going for, drove good races in the wet but absolutely _killed_ it in hot races like Singapore and Malaysia, and walked out of quite a few crashes with a goofy, adrenalin-high kind of look on his face.

 

The name that the fans had adopted for the two Citadel Racing drivers was ‘War Boys’. Nux and Slit never settled for what they had, which had caused quite some distressed messages from team strategists over the course of last season, but in the end they brought home points for a team with cars that should really have been backmarkers. And that’s why Capable loved them so much - and specifically Nux - because they hadn’t ever made it onto the podium, but they made her blood rush through her veins at every race.

 

But to get back to the point of the day: standing on the grid with a sign in hand which says ‘88’, and Nux who notices her and acknowledges her by awkwardly lifting up his hand in greeting. If Capable didn’t have a public image to maintain, she’d probably have giggled. She had never stooped this low or felt this wobbly in her life, but she would not trade it for the world because Nux just acknowledged her, on camera. And everyone at home could see it. (Max and Furiosa were quite possibly watching the race and eating popcorn at this very moment)

 

Capable wished she’d gotten the spot behind his car so she could see what Nux was doing, but Carlos Sainz Junior was being grid-girled by some other cute chick that wasn’t her. Capable took some solace in the fact that it was _her_ butt that Nux got to look at. God, when did she ever drop her standards so much that someone looking at her but would be a source of comfort?

 

The hustle and bustle of the F1 circus continued as last-minute strategy plans were made for the pit stops and choice of tyres. It was almost time for Capable to retreat to a spot where she could watch the race in peace, though it wouldn’t be with the other girls. Not that it would have been a great idea to sit with them, because out of the five of them, Capable was the only one that actually knew something about the sport. Sure, Toast didn’t mind watching it, but that’s mostly because there’s little talking involved – and no grunting, she hates grunting. She once went on a huge rant about tennis and oh dear, Capable still has nightmares.

 

It’s time for the formation lap, which is the lap the drivers warm up their tyres, check the settings on their cars and put themselves in exactly the right spot on the grid that will ensure a good start for them. Sometimes they’ll angle the car a little, but that mostly happens at the front. It was one of the favourite things that Lewis Hamilton liked to do, and Capable was glad that it wasn’t Nux next to him because that might just have ended in a crash.

 

Capable got to relax when she was ordered to the side so the formation lap could start. She watched as Nux lowered his visor and put his hands on the steering wheel, ready to get the adrenalin going. Capable is in love with his helmet because it is look so sleek. It’s pitch-black with silver stripes. _Chrome_ stripes, she corrected herself, chrome is what Nux said they are.

 

They set off slowly, swinging the car from side to side to warm the tyres, but not enough to flat spot them. Flat spots, she explained to Cheedo, are bad. You lose grip, you start sliding, the wall gets too close: boom! End of the race for you. It doesn’t happen often, but still too often for Capable’s liking. Slit always seems a bit harsher on his tyres than Nux, though they’re both not known for their tyre-saving strategies. Some other teams have long stints on their tyres, but taking more risks means your tyres wear quicker, so they don’t have that luxury.

 

Capable followed them on the big screen as someone took the ‘88’ sign out of her hand. She wanted to remain looking at the formation lap, but got pulled away and taken over the pitlane wall for safety measures. She found herself sitting in the Citadel Racing garage before she could comment on it, pretty sure that that was not standard procedure, but the race was about to start. She got onto the tip of her seat, clasped her hands together, made a V8 sign that she’d copied from Nux, and wished for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2, sorry it took so long! I wanted to finish it earlier, but I had some busy days and at the end of the day I was too tired to write! Anyway, here it is.
> 
> I should explain some minor things to non-F1 fans:
> 
> The drinking bottles that are mentioned look like this: http://image.rakuten.co.jp/elite-store/cabinet/180/180p/180p2012994-01.jpg
> 
> And there's a difference between the garage and the motorhome. The garage is directly at the pits, it's where they keep the cars, where they fix the cars, and where they do the pitstops. The motorhome is a (little) building behind the pitlane & garages where the crew get their food and where the crew and drivers chill whenever they're not needed. 
> 
> Examples:  
> Garage: http://www.f1fanatic.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/toro_kore_2010.jpg  
> Motorhome: http://www.grandprix.com/jpeg/phc/pspa08/sun/redbull-motorhome1-lg.jpg
> 
> Apart from that, I'm using real names for the drivers and such, so you can just look them up! I'm using the 2015 season as a guideline, but since a) the season is still underway and b) Citadel Racing doesn't really exist, there are going to be things that are made-up.
> 
> Enjoy!

The race was a struggle: the drivers encountered reliability problems, pit stop troubles or unlucky accidents and had to retire in droves. Slit suffered an unlucky spin that ended with the back of his car hitting the barrier and he was forced to retire. Capable watched it happen from the pits and grimaced when he almost hit one of the marshals. Instead of being driven back to the pits, he pushed aside the scooter driver and swayed all the way back to the garage. The driver was left behind, hands on his hips, probably hoping with the rest of them that Slit wouldn’t drive into something.

 

When Slit got back, he made a big scene out of dropping the scooter and stomping towards the motorhome, situated behind the pits. Capable looked ahead, pretending not to notice, and hoped that no one would notice her. I mean, there was food, something to drink if she asked nicely, a perfect view of the pit stops; she quite liked it here. Of course, there was the nagging thought that she should really be somewhere else, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to meet Nux so she wasn’t really determined to find out her _actual_ duties.

 

Nux drove a flawless race, contrary to many others. The crowd erupted into cheers as the remaining two Aussies, Nux and Daniel Ricciardo, fought for position number five on the grid. Daniel was in the lead, but not by far, and Nux had caught his slipstream. He was quite capable of pulling off the move Capable knew was coming, but it made her wriggle her toes in anticipation each time.

 

They entered the long stretch of asphalt before turn 11 and 12 and Nux was right behind him. Everyone in the garage was absolutely silent. Nux got into his slipstream, gained speed and into turn twelve he pulled up to the right hand side of Daniel and Capable nearly wet herself. They were so close together, wheel-to-wheel action, and neither of them seemed like they’d yield. They approached the corner at nearly 180 miles per hour, speeding towards the sharp right-hander. They all knew Nux wouldn’t yield, but they’d seen Ricciardo pull some dangerous moves on other drivers before. The uncertainty was maddening.

 

For a second Capable envisioned the both of them going straight ahead, failing to make the corner, but at that moment, Ricciardo braked and that was it: Nux was through. Cheers erupted from behind her and Capable couldn’t contain herself. She jumped up from her chair and pumped her fist unashamedly along with the pit crew. Nux took P5.

 

The rest of the race was slow. One more car had engine trouble and retired, but Nux drove the car home and claimed fifth place and with that, ten championship points. Capable clapped along with the team when he crossed the finish line and then again when he walked back into the pits, giving his engineer a pat on the shoulder. He looked slightly overheated, sweat dripping from his bald head and racing suit tied around his hips again. Because he hadn’t ever been on the podium so far, Capable never got to see him directly after the race yet. They do the podium ceremony, and if you’re lucky, your favourite driver shows up in an interview, but most of the time she had to settle for candid photos. This, this was entirely new, like a dream, seeing him so close and being able to almost smell the hard work it took to drive one of those cars.

 

She watched in silence as he put away his helmet, laid out his gloves with the utmost care and precision, and took the drinking bottle his engineer handed him. ‘Aqua cola’, it said, one of the main sponsors of Citadel Racing. She thought it tasted vile, too sweet and too synthetic, but she gladly watched as Nux put his lips around the straw and sucked. When exactly had she turned into a complete pervert? Oh yes, the day she saw him race for the first time. This was, incidentally, also the day she saw shirtless photos of him and learnt his birthdate. Details.

 

She was so stuck in her daydream moment that when she looked up, Nux was waving at her rather frantically.

 

“’ello?” he said, and put his hand down, but continued sucking on the tube that was now at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Hello,” Capable answered, more stoically than she’d wanted. She’d opted for ‘calm and collected’ instead of ‘complete fangirl’ but it had come out as ‘female serial killer’. Nux seemed to enjoy it because he grinned.

 

“Weren’t…” Nux waited, “…didn’t I wave at you before?”

 

“Uh,” Capable looked down at her green skirt, trying to hide her reddening cheeks, “I believe you did, yes.”

 

“Ha, so it was you! How did you like the race?”

 

That made Capable raise her head, because this was a question she could answer honestly. Enthusiasm about the race was different from enthusiasm about the driver standing in front of you, so whatever her answer was, it probably wouldn’t scare him away.

 

“Well,” she started, “I thought your move on Ricciardo was pretty wicked, slipstreaming like that. Shame Slit didn’t make it to the end, but…” _you are my favourite driver so that doesn’t really matter_ “…yeah. It was awesome.”

“Well, look at that!” he exclaimed, straw falling out of his mouth, “You’re not completely clueless!”

 

It was brought with a smile, but Capable couldn’t help but knit her brows. She contemplated her answer and Nux’s face fell more the longer she withheld a reply. He started stammering, seemingly trying to get out an answer or an apology, but instead he just mumbled unintelligibly.

 

“Why would I be clueless?” Capable challenged indignantly, “Am I too _pretty_ to like cars?”

 

“No!” Nux said loudly, putting up his hands in defence, “Though I can’t deny that you’re pretty but-“

 

“I’m a girl?”

 

“Yes but-“

 

“A grid girl-“  
  
“C-can I please redeem myself?” Nux exhaled, interrupting Capable, “I made a blue, I insulted you, I’m sorry? I don’t really do this often.”

 

Capable was confused, what didn’t he do often? Insult women? She shifted in her seat and folded her hands over her lap, suddenly averse to the idea of Nux ogling her. Nux continued.

 

“You see,” he explained, “You’re cute, and most of the time girls like you, don’t like cars. They like ballet, horses, make-up, you know…”  
  
“I _don’t_ know,” Capable deadpanned.

 

“Oh,” Nux scratched himself behind his ear, “I’m not really doing great, am I?”

 

Even though Capable felt insulted by someone she’d been a fan of for years, he looked so embarrassed that she couldn’t help but laugh.

 

“No,” she chuckled, “Unless you always insult and stereotype the girls you meet.”

 

“I don’t mean to,” Nux said, “let’s start over, okay?”

 

Capable agreed. Nux held out his hand for Capable to shake and said: “Hi, I’m Nux.”

 

“Hi,” she smiled, “I’m Capable.”

 

She shook his hand and oh, even though there had been some disappointment just moments ago, this was good. She could officially tell the girls that she’d met him and yes, _she’d touched him_. He was a bit of a dick, apparently slightly old-fashioned, but he _had_ said she was pretty.

 

“Capable?” Nux was now the one with the hint of confusion in his voice, “Of?”

 

“Brisbane?” Capable responded without thought. “I’m from Brisbane?”

 

It didn’t seem to help Nux, for he looked even more puzzled by her answer. He gesticulated with his hands, trying to find the words to say what he meant once again. Capable appreciated the sentiment of ‘thinking before speaking’.

 

“You’re capable of Brisbane?” he eventually said, slowly.

 

“I- what? No, just Capable.”

 

“Of what?” he sounded exasperated now, “what are you capable of?”  


Then it clicked.

 

“Oh!” Capable began laughing, “No, no no! My name, it’s Capable. That’s my name, Capable!”

 

“Right!” he snorted, “That’s a funny name. A good one! But confusing… So, Capable…” he still couldn’t fully contain his laughter when he said it out loud, “How come you’re hanging around here instead of showing off at the podium ceremony?”

 

“Oh God,” Capable went white as a sheet, “Oh god, the ceremony! Fuck!”

 

Her mood made a 180 as she realised that she should have been clapping for the winner of the race, instead of sitting with the one that finished fifth. She jumped up from her chair, brushed down her skirt and decided to make a dash for the podium.

 

“I’m sorry, I completely forgot about the ceremony! I have to run!”

 

She disappeared out of sight before Nux could even formulate the beginning of a sentence that would do their short encounter justice.

 

“Well, that was eventful.”

 

With a shrug at the loss of the nice grid girl Capable, he disappeared into the far end of the garage.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. I fear they might come a bit more irregularly since I'm starting a new job on Monday (yay!!) but I'll try to update at least once a week. Here's the update, I quite enjoyed writing it! There's a bit more backstory in this one, everything is developing as we go!
> 
> Also, Sharylchow drew something inspired by this fic, and I want all of you to see it! Here it is: http://sharylchow.tumblr.com/post/120812631461/mad-max-fury-road-x-f1-au-i-got-inspired-by
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter!

They were all back home in Brisbane in no-time at all. Capable was sitting on the balcony at night, looking at the lights that came from the general direction of the city centre. Their home was located near the harbour, two-stories with balcony and a garage for two cars. How they could afford to buy it was a mystery to Capable, but they’d signed the contract and it was theirs, no dirty tricks or corrupt real estate brokers needed.

The sound of sliding doors opening behind her broke the monotonous near-silence of the seagulls squawking. Toast stepped through, jumping up to sit on the balcony railing, back propped up against a wooden column. Capable thought it was dangerous, but Toast was like a cat that had nine lives and always landed on her feet. Not unlike Nux, Capable realised.

“Did you get a call from him yet?” Toast said, a thin cigar between her lips. She hadn’t lit it yet.

“No,” Capable answered, “And I don’t get why you’re all so convinced that that’s going to happen.”

“You were the one that said he was flirting,” Toast shrugged, and put one foot on the railing, leaving the other one dangling. Capable eyed the motion with concern. If others did what Toast was doing, Capable would have said they did it on purpose, knowing it’d get a reaction out of her. Toast didn’t do anything on purpose - unless you were male and a threat, in which case she’d make a point out of pushing your buttons – so propping herself up on the railing wasn’t done with the intention of making Capable worry, she had done it because she felt like it.

The silence was filled with the sound of squabbling seagulls and the occasional exhale of smoke. The cigar smelt good, a hint of cinnamon, rather sweet. It clashed with the saltiness of the sea that hung in the air. Capable breathed in deep.

“I guess I’m gonna have to pay the fine, then,” she said on her exhale.

Toast simply nodded in acknowledgement.

They had fined Capable for not being there at the final ceremony. It wasn’t a huge amount of money, not like you’d expect from a corporation (if you could call Formula 1 that), but still too much for her to be able to pay on her own. Everyone in the house had promised to pay a small share of the fine, and Furiosa and Max had promised to pay half of what was left after the girls put in their money, but that still left Capable with 700 Australian dollars to pay herself.

She’d been told off quite badly by the grid girl supervisor. The man had been gross. Capable could’ve sworn there were pieces of food stuck in his unevenly trimmed beard. When he spoke to her, or rather yelled at her, she could smell what he’d had for breakfast. The fact that his job was to supervise (and yell at) young and beautiful girls, still baffled Capable, but she suspected that Bernie Ecclestone had made it happen.

Bernie Ecclestone, the boss of Formula One, hated by the fans and worshiped by rich companies in the Middle-East and Asia, 83 years old and still going strong. Capable had felt like spitting on the ground where he’d just walked, but that would’ve surely bumped up the fine by a couple of thousand dollars.

Capable had resigned to the fact that she was going to have to pull money from her savings account. Her parents had put it in place when she was younger, and when they had died, and she moved in with Furiosa, her adoptive mother had been the one to deposit 25 dollars a month on it. She did that for her sister Angharad too.

Toast pulled the cigar from between her lips and pointed it in Capable’s direction. She had her eyebrows raised in question. Raised brows counted as a lot of expression on Toast’s face, and expression, for her, was closely linked to compassion. Capable realised she had been wearing a frown on her own visage, quite probably the reason Toast showed as much emotion as she did.

“One,” Capable agreed, and took the cigar from her hand, “One drag and then I’m going to pay that fine.”

 

\----------

 

It was nearly midnight when Capable finally logged onto her email, so she expected things to feel a little more difficult than they might have been had she done them at three in the afternoon. But the email that said ‘Your outstanding fine has been fully paid’ made no sense at all.

She read the email over and over. Not only did she have no recollection of transferring the money to them, she was also certain that the bank account number and the name ‘Ace Smith’ were absolutely not hers. A sense of elation as well as panic crept up on her.

The only one still awake was Toast, but after Capable had given the cigar back to her, ‘I need some alone time’ had been written all over her face. Still, this was important, someone had paid her fine and she had no idea who this person was. In the end, the desire to find out the truth was stronger than the inescapability of having to endure one of Toast’s cold glares, and Capable made her way back to the balcony.

“Toast?” she spoke softly as she opened the doors, but it garnered no response.

“Toast, are you there?” she tried again, a bit more volume in her speech. A soft knocking sound came from the roof above the balcony.

“I’m here,” she said. The glare was audible.

She wasn’t going to come down, that much was clear to Capable. She didn’t want to talk and she wasn’t going to make it any easier for Capable to do that what she didn’t want to do. Capable opted for leaning against the railing. By now, the only things that you could hear were the crickets.

“Someone paid the fine,” Capable started, “Ace Smith, or whoever that is. Paid all of it.”

Toast hummed. It sounded like she was moving around on the roof, possibly sitting up, and Capable waited.

“Well, I googled the name…” Toast said after a few minutes of silence. She’d sat up to grab her phone from her pocket then, “I _doubt_ that Trey D.J Ace Smith, son of Will Smith, paid your fine, so I’m going to go with Ace Smith, PR Handler of Citadel Racing, born in Perth, married to-“

“Hold on,” Capable interrupted, “You’re saying Citadel Racing paid my fine?”

“I’m not saying they are,” Toast explained, “But it is more likely than the other option, isn’t it? Now, please…” _leave me alone_.

Capable left, quite stunned at this possibility. She had to investigate.

 

\----------

 

‘ **From: iamcapable@gmail.com**

**To: a.smith@citadelracing.au**

**Subject: Fine**

_Dear Ace Smith,_

_At the Australian Grand Prix I was fined for not being present at the podium ceremony, since I presented as a grid girl that weekend. Mere minutes ago, I was going to pay that fine and saw that it had already been paid by someone with your name. I found your email address through the website of Citadel Racing, and I was wondering if this was indeed you, and if so, I’d love to know why._

_Kind Regards,_

_Capable.’_

 

Sent. She’d pressed send. She couldn’t have wait until the next morning before sending it, the urge to know increasing by the minute. When Capable set her alarm for the morning, she realised that due to her late-night searching, she’d only get five hours of sleep before she had to rush to work. Well, so be it. Maybe there’d be an email waiting for her when she got back.

 

\----------

 

Her phone beeped while she was at work. She couldn’t pick it up to see what it was, because her hands were busy kneading dough. The chocolate chip cookies had to get into the oven within fifteen minutes or they wouldn’t be ready before the end of her shift. She let her phone be.

The door of the little lunchroom she worked at almost got run down when she opened up shop that morning. It was going to be a hot day, and many people were spending their time at the beach, on a boat, or apparently at this little place. You’d expect the salads and sandwiches to be in high-demand, but all that people wanted to eat seemed to be croissants, a Dutch variation on cheesecake with cherries, called Monchou, and the chocolate chip cookies.

Angharad had been the one to open the shop, and she couldn’t have chosen a better place to set it up. They were close enough to one of the downtown business centres so that the white collars came in for their twelve o’clock snack, and near enough to the harbour to get both tourists and the local workers to take a break at their place. Angharad manned the till, a quiet but ever-friendly older woman made their coffee (and their famous mint tea) and Capable did the baking. It worked perfectly well like that. But when Capable’s phone beeped for the third time in fifteen minutes, she wished she’d had Angharad’s job so she could’ve quickly grabbed it to see what was happening.

It was three in the afternoon when she got off and she was allowed to grab her phone. By that hour, it had beeped another two times, and then it had gone silent. Capable washed her hands thoroughly (there’s nothing worse than frosting in your hair) and nearly dove into the pocket of her jacket after she’d retrieved it from the lunch room.

Her phone said she had one email, and four whatsapps. They were all from Cheedo. She waved goodbye to Angharad, opened up her phone, read the messages and ran right back to her adoptive sister.

“Angharad!” she called, and beckoned her to step to the side. There were no customers in line, only a few at the tables around this time in the afternoon, so the only problem she had was that they were getting weird looks. Capable couldn’t find herself to care.

“Do you remember that fine I got?” Capable nearly jumped up and down from excitement, “Last night, I wanted to go and pay it when I saw that it had already been paid for.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” Capable smiled. Oh there she went, right into fangirl mode. “And guess what, it was paid by Citadel Racing. And not only that!” Capable caught her breath, “Cheedo said a package came for me with a photo of Nux, his signature on it, and a letter that he hoped his payment of my fine hadn’t scared me off!”

A man behind them cleared his throat rather theatrically, turning the page of his tabloid-sized newspaper with some disdain. Capable might have been beyond caring, but Angharad cared for her business and pulled Capable with her until they were in a different room.

“So let me get this straight,” Angharad spoke slowly, “Your fine was paid for by your favourite driver, and he sent you a personal letter to explain why?”

“Well, yes!” Capable nodded enthusiastically, “Cheedo said she hadn’t read it all, that she’d opened it because it had the Citadel Racing stamp on it and she wanted to make sure I wasn’t in any more trouble.”

“…right,” Angharad smiled, “Of course that’s why she’d opened it. Not because she secretly loves gossip or anything…” Angharad turned her head away as she spoke, feigning innocence.

“Stop it!” Capable blushed and poked Angharad. “I’m going home to see for myself.”

“You do that, little sis,” Capable was given a pat on the shoulder, “I’m going to see if that grumpy man is ready to leave yet.”

 

\----------

 

‘ _Hi Capable (of Brisbane),_

_I don’t really know how to start this letter but I added a photo of me, with a signature, as a peace offering, just in case. You probably got the email yesterday that your fine had been paid for already. That was my way of apologising for keeping you at the garage when you really should have been somewhere else. It’s no big deal for me._

_I’m sorry I screwed up when I met you, I’m not at my most coherent when I’ve just climbed out of the car. ~~And you shone rather brightly.~~ _ (he’d scratched that but it was still readable) _I put my phone number on the back of the photo just in case, but it’s probably creepy. Your name isn’t silly by the way…it suits you._

_Anyway, I hope you’re having a good day and maybe until next year?_

_Nux Immortan.'_

 

The speed at which Capable turned over the photo was nothing short of a Formula One car down a straight, and there it was, in the corner. His handwriting, just like that of the letter, was scribbly but somehow legible.

“Is that his phone number?” Cheedo exclaimed, throwing her hands in front of her mouth. Capable nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Oh my god Cheedo, have you been there the whole time?”

It wasn’t really a question that needed an answer. Cheedo just grabbed the photo, took her finger and traced the numbers on the card. “It really is his number, isn’t it? Oh my god, Capable!”

“Shush!” Capable took back the photo, even redder than back at the lunchroom, “Shush, Cheedo! What do I do?!”

“I can’t shush and give advice at the same time!”

“Alright, alright! So what do I do?”

It took Cheedo no time at all to sit down in front of Capable and say: “Marry him, of course.”

Capable felt it in her bones, that tonight, whatever happened, she was going to add that number to her phone and send Nux Immortan a text saying ‘Hey, it’s Capable!’ because that’s what sisters make you do. It was bound to be another short night. She hoped.

 


End file.
